


The Oak Tree

by Gilli_ann



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Druids, Fate & Destiny, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Naked Cuddling, Nymphs & Dryads, Rituals, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilli_ann/pseuds/Gilli_ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a hunt in the deep forests, Prince Arthur encounters Merlin, an impulsive and enticing dryad. Merlin proves to be an uninhibited magical being, and the two of them spend a brief summer enjoying life and each other under the trees of an ancient oak grove. His time with Merlin affects Arthur profoundly, but their relationship may be doomed when Camelot's war on magic escalates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Oak Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my always encouraging artist, Zerda_vulpes, whose lovely artwork inspired me to write as soon as I saw it! Do go have a look at her art for this fic! ( http://zerda-vulpes.livejournal.com/2888.html )
> 
> Oh, and look, Zerda made another artwork of dryad Merlin: http://zerdagratiaartis.tumblr.com/post/123300034205/mushroomtale-asked-dryad-merlin-11-gosh-i-love
> 
> A big thank you to my efficient and focused beta, Lawgoddess, and also to Chosenfire28 for arranging this Merlin Reverse Big Bang. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The BBC Merlin's version of Merlin, Arthur and the Arthurian legends is the property of BBC and Shine. I intend no disrespect nor copyright infringement, and I make no profit from this.
> 
> This story is authorised for AO3 only. It is not to be copied or used elsewhere without my explicit written permission.

**The Oak Tree**

**Part One: The Spirit of the Grove**

“There he goes!” 

The young crown prince of Camelot spurred his horse on eagerly, lying almost flat along her neck.

The rushing air whipped his hair into his eyes. His pulse picked up speed. Keeping his focus unwaveringly on the stag with the impressive antlers, his knees pressing into Caelia's flanks, Arthur reached back and tried to get at his crossbow fastened to the saddle. Behind him he heard the eager baying of dogs and the hoof-beats of many horses. 

Someone was shouting, the words lost on the wind. A horn blared.

The stag he was chasing kept weaving in and out among the trees, its feet thudding against the soft dry ground beneath the forest's ceiling of boughs and leaves. Sometimes the animal disappeared behind dense foliage where one of the giant trees of the forest had fallen long ago to give sunlight, air and new saplings access. Every time it soon re-appeared in the shadows of the larger trees, a fleet fast-moving shape of brown fur, strong muscles and antlers that had to be sporting at least eighteen tines. 

Arthur pressed on. The wind whistled past him, and branches and tall weeds sometimes struck at his face or body. His own heartbeat and Caelia's hooves thundered in his ears, the intensity of the chase driving him. 

He wasn't at all sure where the magnificent stag had come from. The one they'd originally been following did not sport antlers anywhere near as big, he was sure of that. But he wasn't about to question his hunting luck. 

He shouted in glee and excitement. Oh, he was going to run this one down, all on his own! Those glorious antlers would soon grace the walls of the royal chambers. They might even be mounted in the great hall. His father would be pleased and proud, and the master of the hunt and his other companions would all be impressed. 

Suddenly a huge tree, downed years ago, blocked his path. Caelia swerved aside at the last moment, barely avoiding crashing into the rotting barrier. The obstacle was too tall for the spirited courser to jump across it, and she had the good sense to disobey Arthur when he tried to urge her on. 

Annoyed at this change of fortune, he reined her in one-handedly, their pace slowing while he tried to decide on the best course forward. 

He couldn't see the stag. He tried to calm his own breathing, patting Caelia's flank, listening intently. Had he lost his prey? The stag had to be tired. It couldn't possibly be far off. 

All at once Arthur noticed the silence. He couldn't hear the hounds, and there was no sound from his companions. Weren't they following him? He pulled Caelia around in a slow circle, suddenly conscious of how dense the forest was here, how tall the trees. Their big boles were covered in ivy and creepers, and their boughs were immense. The ground under the canopy of leaves seemed a shadowy realm all of its own. The trees here had to be ancient. He had never before hunted this far from Camelot. 

Caelia was still breathing heavily. Arthur stroked a palm down the horse's neck. It was lathered in sweat. Murmuring softly to calm her, Arthur admitted to himself that he had lost the stag. 

Disappointment flooded him. 

Now that the fervour of the chase was dissipating, he realized that he shouldn't try to track the stag further. He was vulnerable like this. He needed to rejoin his party. 

The woods were dangerous for one man alone. They were the home not only to bears and boars, but to brigands and discontented groups of Druids, people who had fled here a long time ago to escape his father's ban on their magic. They might take advantage of a chance to capture the crown prince and use him in the fight against Camelot. 

Arthur gripped his crossbow firmly and studied the lengthening shadows, walking Caelia forward slowly while trying to get his bearings. 

Right in front of him a large bird broke cover, crying loudly as it flashed past Caelia's nose. The startled horse reared. Normally Arthur would have had no difficulty in keeping to the saddle, but he was taken unawares too. He lost his balance and was thrown, landing hard on his back. The air was knocked completely out of his lungs. 

Dazed, he found himself watching Caelia running off into the forest. He had neither breath nor voice to call her back. 

Once he did get his breath back, he used it on a heartfelt expletive. “Bugger!”

The day had gone from glorious promise to near-disaster in next to no time. King Uther would hardly be impressed by a son who had rushed off heedlessly on his own, left his companions, lost his way, lost his horse, and needed to be rescued. 

“Drat it!” 

Arthur lay for a moment staring up into the foliage of the ancient, majestic trees. 

The forest was silent again, a slight afternoon breeze whispering through the leaves high above his head. Suddenly there was a sound, and an unexpected one. It sounded like gentle and merry laughter. He sat up, scanning the forest and its shadows. Had it just been a bird? 

Then he heard the laughter again, and this time it was followed by soft humming, - a sweet, slow ditty. 

He got to his feet, fastened the crossbow to his belt and drew his sword. “Hello? Who's there?”

A brief silence answered him, before the happy humming continued, this time right behind his back. He jumped, lifting his sword and crouching in a defensive position. 

“Who are you? Show yourself!”

There was no answer. Arthur realized that an entire tribe of Druids could be hiding behind the immensely wide tree bole right in front of him. He had never seen any tree as impressive or as huge as this old oak. Its leaves looked to be as large as the palm of his hand. Its branches reached out in all directions, far and wide, and he couldn't even begin to guess at the massive tree's height. 

The laughter and singing had been carefree, nearly child-like. Perhaps he had stumbled upon an outlaw's family?

“Please show yourself! I'm not dangerous, I just need directions,” he said. 

The singing resumed. This this time it came from above, and he could understand the words. 

_"Here, hundred feet high above ground,_  
_Destiny is waiting, dear;_  
_Leaves hide that which may be found;_  
_Nothing that you need to fear._

_We two will suffer a change_  
_Into something rich and strange._  
_Wood-nymphs sing, all will be well;_  
_Ding dong -_  
_Yes! Do you hear them?_  
_Ding dong bell."_

Arthur drew a deep breath. There was a mystical air to the tune, and it put him on edge. He looked up into the tree, trying to discern some movement or a human shape, but there was nothing to see. 

“Who's there? Who are you?” 

“I am Merlin,” a cheerful voice responded right in front of him. 

Arthur stepped back hurriedly, barely managing to stay on his feet. “W-what?” 

A human-like face was visible at the front of the tree. A face, arms, and a torso. A person was emerging from _inside_ the tree! 

Arthur's eyes went wide and his body stiffened with disbelief. 

The tree-person – Merlin? - had a pale, open and very pleasing face, and curiously pointed, large ears. He wore a circlet of oak leaves and acorns in his dark, wavy hair, and he had the bluest, most lively eyes Arthur had ever seen. His lean, pale torso was completely unclothed. 

Now the strange being reached out a hand to him. “I'm happy to meet you, friend.”

“Do I.... do I know you?”

The tree-creature laughed merrily. “Not yet. But you may never forget me.”

“Why do you call me friend?”

Merlin frowned in surprise. “Don't you want to be my friend?”

Arthur shook his head and smiled, intrigued despite himself. “I've never met any speaking trees before, I don't know what sort of friends they make.”

Merlin smiled brightly. “Good friends, and loyal.” He gestured impulsively. “Don't think I make friends with just anybody. Just like that? No!” 

His merry laughter trilled under the leaves and tickled Arthur's ears.

Arthur felt the charm of the smile, the voice and those lovely eyes washing over him and sinking in, warming his skin as well as his heart. Half-man Merlin was strangely alluring. 

Despite himself, Arthur had lowered his right arm, the sword tip resting lightly against the ground. 

Merlin reached out to him. “Let's shake hands! Won't you introduce yourself?”

The sword dropped from Arthur's hand. To his own surprise he reached out to Merlin and gripped the long, slim fingers without hesitation. Merlin's hand was pleasantly warm. “I am Arthur Pendragon, the heir to Camelot,” he said. “I still don't know who you are.”

“I'm Merlin, just Merlin. They say I'm your destiny.”

“They? Who are they? Wait - my destiny? Is this... are you joking? You're not even a whole person!”

“Oh, I can be whole when I want to,” Merlin said matter-of-factly and took a step forward, detaching himself from the tree and presenting himself in the shape of a complete human. 

He was as tall as Arthur, looked lithe yet wiry, had pale skin and sleek, defined muscles, and wore not a stitch. Except for the circlet of oak leaves he carried nothing but a string of red berries, riding low around his loins. He was extremely well endowed. There was no question that he was young, healthy - and male.

Arthur's heart missed a beat. He felt himself blushing and frantically looked away and up, meeting Merlin's laughing eyes. 

“Do you like me better when I'm whole?”

Arthur was out of his depth. This was all so strange, so mysterious, it had to be...

“Sorcery!” he exclaimed, lifting his hands as if to ward off a blow. “Are you a sorcerer? A magical creature? Of course you are! Back off with your enchantments, warlock! Don't think I don't know that magic is evil. Stay away from me!”

Merlin's smile fell. “Oh, Arthur,” he sighed, cocking his head with a slight pout. “You disappoint me.” 

He stepped closer. Arthur remained rooted to the spot. The shadows had grown deeper, the evening breeze chilly. He shuddered. 

Merlin reached up and touched Arthur's forehead gently with a fingertip. “We will meet again if you come back to me with an open mind,” he said. “But until then, this was all a dream. A dream, Arthur. You're sleeping....”

Arthur's eyes grew very heavy. He yawned. Darkness closed in around him. He drew a deep breath, his knees buckled, and he fell asleep. 

“Sleep deeply, dream well, and wake up a little wiser,” a soft voice whispered through his mind. 

Arthur knew no more.

x X x 

Prince Arthur was found at dusk by his own hounds, at the outskirts of the forest near the road leading to Camelot. He was sleeping peacefully on the ground, and his courser Caelia stood guard over him.

The hunting party had been returning to Camelot in a great hurry to warn King Uther of the prince's disappearance and to get the knights' help in searching for him. They were relieved to find him, and overjoyed when he woke up at the first gentle shake, looking a little dizzy and confused, but otherwise none the worse for wear. 

Arthur didn't say much, but mounted up with them at once.

They returned to the castle looking much the same as when they set out in the morning. The hounds were all accounted for, none of the horses had gone lame, and the party had even caught their stag with the ten tines. No-one intended to mention the prince's disappearance. They would hardly be praised or respected for managing to lose track of their lord, and all's well that ends well. 

As they rode under the portcullis and through the gate, Arthur turned in his saddle and looked back down the road, across the village roofs and fields towards the forest. Daylight had dwindled, and the forest was one black mass against the sky, hardly to be distinguished from the dark clouds that had rolled in to block the moon. 

Arthur shook his head once, an unguarded look of wonder on his face. Then he turned forward, clenched his jaw and put on a calm and haughty expression, ready to face his father and the court and to report on yet a successful hunt.

x X x 

King Uther Pendragon was a strong king, respected and feared. He was a tall and austere man with piercing grey eyes. As a rule he dressed in black.

The year Arthur turned seventeen and met Merlin, his father had held the kingdom for more than twenty years, and in that time had managed to widen its borders, strengthen the defences, and bring order and safety to the lives of commoners and villagers. He was deemed a fair man, although a hard one, in all matters, - as long as those matters did not involve sorcery and magic. 

King Uther's hatred of magic was known far and wide. He would never compromise, and never saw reason where sorcery was concerned. Over the long years he had mercilessly fought and banished magic-users, and had ruthlessly persecuted the Druid tribes of Camelot. The remaining Druids, displaced and on the run, had fled to other lands, or had retreated to the deepest forests. 

The people of Camelot missed their village healers, their fairy tales, the mysteries and magic rituals every equinox. Still, they were for the most part willing to accept their losses as a reasonable price paid for order, safety and food on the table. 

Camelot was experiencing peace and increasing prosperity after the initial years of disquiet and uprisings. King Uther was victorious, and held the reins of his kingdom tightly. Magic was banned. 

In material terms the kingdom had been doing well, but art and spirituality were absent from its daily life, which was filled by military order and structure. Dreams and imaginings demonstrated weakness, in the king's mind, and served little practical purpose. A strict and predictable rule, based on royal laws and supported by might of arms, - that was his only frame of reference.

Arthur was the king's only child. He had grown up in the sombre court of Camelot, behind the stone walls of a castle filled with knights and weaponry, military strategies and orders. The softer, gentler sides of life hardly registered in his upbringing. His mother had died giving birth to him, and from the age of three he had no nanny. The chatelaine and the serving women slid by him like shadows. 

Arthur had friends among the nobility's sons, boys brought up to be fighters much like himself. He learned the use of his sword and spear and crossbow. He knew wrestling and hand-to-hand combat, and how to read maps and prepare battle plans. He was an accomplished rider at eight years old. Hunting soon became his favourite pastime.

Uther was a distant and demanding father. Although Arthur never had cause to doubt his father's care for him, he very rarely met with outright praise or approval. Uther always made him strive to do better. For all that, the king did not keep Arthur on too tight a leash. He realized that his son needed time now and then to enjoy himself and to simply be a young man. But Uther's ideas of how a young man could possibly want to enjoy himself were very limited. 

For reasons that he never explained, the king did not require his son to attend the executions, - the witch burnings and the beheadings of sorcerers. Young Arthur was largely spared the horror and cruelty of the persecutions, and this was perhaps why curiosity and a sense of wonder survived at the core of his being, although he usually hid it well. 

His young heart was never crushed, and his sense of beauty and goodness was never trampled permanently into the dust.

Uther approved of his son's interest in hunting. It was the only topic of discussion between father and son that did not touch upon the rule of Camelot or the dangers of magic. They enjoyed animated conversations about hunting over the evening meals at their long bare table, meant for many more people than the two of them. 

Some few days after he'd successfully brought the stag back, Arthur asked his father to be allowed to ride out hunting on his own. He argued that he would get to know the lay of the land and learn stealth better without bringing a whole noisy troop of nobles, guards, helpers, hounds and horses.

Uther arched an eyebrow slightly. His thin lips compressed into a knowing and pleased almost-smile. 

Arthur found his own cheeks going hot. He dropped his eyes for a moment. 

His father chortled. “So... going _hunting_ in the countryside alone, are you? What is it you'll be chasing there, hmm?”

Arthur shook his head and bit his lip before forcing his face back into its usual respectful mode.

“Oh, young men and their urges! You have needs, I understand that, Arthur. And I agree – far better in the distant villages than here at court. That just leads to complications, grudges and disputes. Unwanted.... disturbances.” 

Uther cleared his throat, and drank deeply from his goblet. “Dress simply, and they may not even recognize you,” he continued. “But under no circumstances will I let you ride out completely on your own. Bring your man along. That's final.”

Arthur gaped at him. He was torn between indignant amazement at his father's prurient assumptions, and a wish to argue against having to bring Morris. 

“But father, Morris is such an _idiot_! He barely clings to the saddle, I...”

“If not him, then one of the house guards,” Uther said, dismissing Arthur's objection with a firm hand gesture. “You decide. But I have to consider safety. Someone must always know exactly where you are. You do not ever ride out alone.” 

“I will bring Morris with me,” Arthur grumbled, bowing his head over his plate and reaching for his wine cup. 

“Good,” Uther said. 

They talked about the knights' training regime during the rest of the meal.

x X x 

One week later the prince and his manservant rode out together on Arthur's first solitary hunt.

It was a warm day at the height of summer. Arthur was in a strange mood. He was impatient and pressed on, riding fast. But on occasion he looked back towards Camelot and hesitated, as if he considered returning home. 

Morris rode behind him, saying little. 

When all was said and done, bringing Morris along didn't prove very cumbersome. Arthur's manservant was well-meaning and loyal, but he was young, clumsy and easily startled. Arthur had no difficulty in intimidating him when he wanted to.

The sun baked down on them as they reached outskirts of the ancient forests. Arthur told Morris to stay behind and set up camp. He wanted to ride on alone to scout out the terrain, he said, drying sweat off his brow with a quick swipe of his red sleeve.

“I'll be back before nightfall. Don't worry.”

Morris's meek protests could not stop Arthur. He stayed for a brief while and watched Morris beginning to unpack the saddle bags, but he soon rode on, making straight for the depths of the forest. 

Making straight for Merlin. 

He had thought it would be difficult, perhaps even impossible, to locate the grove of oak trees and the mysterious Merlin again. There were so many tall oaks in the dense ancient forests, and the woods covered wide expanses. But he needn't have worried. Something was tugging at him, leading him back, and he never doubted the path he needed to follow. 

This time he rode at a more measured pace, and had time to look around. The trees were tall, but there were signs of wildlife everywhere. 

Rays of sun shimmered through the leaves. Open stretches of young trees and lush grass offered abundant food for the deer. Several times he saw does and fawns bolting into thickets as he rode past. Squirrels nattered at him from the branches, and birds sometimes surprised him with sharp warning cries at his approach. 

As he got deeper into the forest the tug on his mind grew stronger, and he recognized the strange tranquility settling around him. He was getting close. And there it was; – the huge tree, its boughs spread wide in welcome. 

Arthur pulled briefly at Caelia's reins. He stood off, and after a moment's hesitation tied her loosely to a branch. He walked towards the big oak, looking around in the half-shadows under the dark green leaves. The air was warm and pleasantly scented. Everything was quiet.

“Merlin, are you here?” 

“Arthur!” Merlin burst out of the tree and landed on nimble feet right in front of Arthur, making him take a hurried step back. “You have returned!”

Arthur drew a breath and nodded, smiling tentatively. Merlin was still as bare as the day he was born, - if he _had_ ever been born. He still seemed completely unselfconscious.

“Hello, Merlin.”

“I'm so happy! I hoped you'd come back.”

“You did?” 

“Of course! I'm your destiny, remember, I need to be at your side! I _want_ to be at your side. We were meant for each other.”

“About that destiny talk, I don't think....”

Merlin stepped closer, standing so near that Arthur could touch him, and feel the heat he radiated. The mercurial being reached out and pulled at the leather strap holding Arthur's pauldron in place, then knocked at the metal of the piece of armour with a confused expression. 

“Why are you wearing this metal skin on your shoulder? It's ugly and it's in the way.”

“It's protection. From swords and spears and arrows. Uhm, - in the way of what?” 

Arthur swallowed. Having Merlin this close was disconcerting, but he wasn't backing off. “Why are _you_ going about completely naked? Are you that shameless, or don't you know what clothes are?”

“Shameless?” Merlin drew the word out, letting it roll across his tongue, tasting it, wondering at it. He had very plump and tempting lips. “I am not ashamed. You shouldn't be, either. My way is natural, the way it should be. You're wearing layers of additional skin, like birch bark protecting your core wood, but it's not necessary here.” 

“I... I.. would you stop that? I just need to know what you _are_ , who you are. However much I have tried, I can't get you out of my head!” 

Arthur looked into Merlin's eyes, making a small, pleading gesture. “You have magic, obviously, but are you a product of sorcery? Are you evil?”

Merlin frowned, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Evil? I'm not human like you. I am magic, yes of course I am. Magic is the power that keeps nature in balance and makes her whole and well. I'm a dryad. I'm the guardian of the grove, and this - “ he looked up, searching for the top of the mighty oak, high above him, and threw his hands in the air. “This is my tree. I don't know if you want to call that _evil_.”

“No, no. I don't. But what is a dryad?”

Merlin shook his head impatiently. “A spirit, I think that is the human word for us. Do you understand enough about me now? Don't use all these words when there are better ways to get to know me.” His blue eyes sparkled, and his eloquent hands stilled for a moment. Then he lowered them both to suggestively cup and display his manhood. “Would you like to couple with me? I know a soft patch of grass and warm sunlight where we can lie down.” 

Arthur stared at him, speechless. He felt blood rushing to his cheeks, but even more so to his cock, which stirred in eager interest. He didn't know what to say or do, but desire rose in him like the sap in a young tree in spring. 

Merlin kept touching himself – _shamelessly!_ \- and by now was sporting a sizeable erection, long and plump, its head the colour of a ripe plum. Drops of moisture beaded on the straining flesh. 

Merlin's eyes sparkled. He smiled at Arthur and moaned in pleasure. 

Arthur's throat felt tight. He shook his head frantically, jerking his hands high - in defence or in surrender, he himself couldn't have said which. 

He couldn't do this, it wasn't allowed, never, not with a man! But Merlin wasn't really an ordinary man, not a human at all, and this was all so strange and enticing and out of the ordinary, it was almost like a dream. Maybe it _was_ just a fantasy? Well then....

Wordlessly he gave Merlin his trembling hand and let the dryad lead him further into the forest.

x X x 

Arthur rode homewards in a daze the next day.

Morris rode next to him, now and then turning his head to look searchingly at Arthur with red-rimmed, tired eyes. Arthur didn't notice. 

His day and night spent with Merlin had been like a waking dream; - intense sensations, his mind and body brimming with pleasure, lights sparkling in those blue, blue eyes above him. So close, skin on skin, touching and tasting and oh - no embarrassment, no inhibitions. Nothing had seemed impossible. Everything had been allowed. 

He had a premonition he'd never be the same person again. And he chuckled at that thought.

“Why are you laughing, Sire?” Morris asked in a low voice.

“I'm not laughing, you ninny. I'm frowning, thinking of that blasted deer that slipped away from me, even though I chased it all night long,” Arthur said. 

“I was very afraid, all alone in the camp in the dark forest at night,” Morris muttered. “I wondered what to do. I kept thinking...”

“Don't think, it isn't your strongest suit,” Arthur quipped, not for the first time. But his heart was not in it. His head began to clear. He squashed the irritation blossoming in his chest at Morris's complaint. He _had_ exposed his manservant to danger. He'd not acted honourably. 

He'd been wild and free with Merlin, but as crown prince of Camelot he continued to be bound by duties, traditions and the rules of chivalry. Somehow he would have to find a way to balance those opposites. He wanted to go back to Merlin, and the sooner, the better. His entire being longed to return, his body burned with the yearning. But he was a prince, and that meant protecting his people, Morris among them.

“I'm sorry, Morris. Next time you go hunting with me, I'll leave you at the Longstead village inn,” he said after some time. “You can stay there and have a bit of time off and a good night's sleep while I go hunting. I can manage without you lighting the camp fire for me. In fact, I'll be better off. You'd probably scare away all the prey within miles' distance.”

Morris started to shake his head in protest, but Arthur cut him short. “That's an order, Morris. Unless you long to camp in the depths of the forest after all?”

Morris opened his mouth, closed it again, shook his head, and kept his peace. 

Arthur nodded, satisfied. He would have his days away on his own, but Camelot and the king would never know. And Morris wouldn't be gored by a boar or eaten by a bear while Arthur was frolicking with his dryad. 

_His_ dryad. 

Arthur grinned all the rest of the way back to Camelot.

x X x 

The last weeks of that summer would always be bathed in a golden glow in Arthur's mind.

When he returned to the oak trees, Merlin came bounding towards him at once, preternaturally fast, flailing with exuberance. 

“Arthur!” 

Merlin jumped, an agile, very warm shape clinging to Arthur with arms around his neck and legs wound around his hips. Arthur hugged him to his chest, and kissed him eagerly.

Soon they were rolling around on the moss under the oak tree like fox pups, playful and energetic. 

Arthur couldn't get enough of Merlin. The intense pleasure their bodies would bring them as soon as they touched was like iron striking on flint. It always created a bright spark igniting a blazing fire. 

One afternoon, when the shadows were turning long and the sun dipped towards the forest's green roof, they went picking raspberries together. Merlin insisted that Arthur needed more energy, poking his belly cheekily. 

Arthur thought about licking crimson berry juice off pale skin, and came more than willingly. 

The ripe berries were sweet and sticky. Merlin fed them to Arthur, one by one. Arthur lay on his back, happy and drowsy. He'd already found his release twice that day. 

“One more... and one more.... “

Arthur swallowed another one, sucked the berry juice from Merlin's slim fingers, and pulled Merlin closer. He reached for the rest of the raspberries in their wooden bowl, helping himself to a fistful, and rolled on top of Merlin, pushing himself up on hands and knees. 

Merlin beamed up at him in anticipation, his eyes crinkling with delight. 

Arthur took his time painting red juicy circles and lines across Merlin's body, changing him into a living canvas decorated with the sweet script of desire. He admired his own artwork for a moment, and then removed the markings just as lovingly, caressing Merlin's skin with every sweep of his tongue. He dribbled berry juice onto Merlin's nipples and all over his cock and balls, and licked every drop off again, slowly and meticulously. 

His time with Merlin was making Arthur increasingly creative and completely uninhibited. 

Merlin writhed, sighed and laughed, reacting to every little sensation and egging Arthur on. 

At long last Arthur tried feeding the last few berries to Merlin, but the dryad turned his head away and sat up, briefly shaking his head . Arthur frowned. “These are delicious, do you really not want them?” He cast his mind back over the days he'd spent with Merlin. The memories were hazy, suffused with intense happiness and sensual pleasure, but the truth dawned on him nevertheless.

“I have never seen you eat! Don't dryads need food?”

Merlin's face was serious, and he looked towards the huge oak tree. “I am not human, Arthur. Sometimes I think you forget that. I get my nourishment from the grove.” 

Arthur tried to comprehend. “So... you only eat acorns, is that it?”

Merlin laughed, a sound of joy that rose through the layers of branches overhead to the topmost leaves. He nudged Arthur and slid downwards, flipping himself over so he suddenly was lying on his knees between Arthur's outstretched legs. Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“Human memory is like a sieve! You _have_ seen me eat, more than once.” He winked, and dipped his head, licking a wet streak up Arthur's cock. “And look! Now I'm hungry again!”

Arthur laughed helplessly. He was getting excited, his cock plumping up in anticipation, but he was also very sore. 

Arousal won, and desire spiked hot and eager through Arthur when Merlin's smiling lips opened wide and swallowed him down. Those sparkling eyes met Arthur's as Merlin slowly pulled off, suckling and nibbling and _humming_. 

Arthur threw his head back, dug his fingers into the soft ground, and moaned. His whole body arched. Every thought and question fled from his mind.

Afterwards they lay together quietly, skin against skin. Merlin fell asleep, curled up against Arthur, his dark head resting on Arthur's chest. Arthur kissed one of Merlin's big ears, nibbling very gently at the strangely pointed end, and sighed with contentment. 

Merlin's oak leaf circlet prickled his skin. Arthur had given completely up on wearing clothes when he was with Merlin. The weather was always pleasant in the oak grove, and Merlin was very warm. 

Nudity seemed the only natural state here. The only honest state. 

Arthur looked down at the sleeping dryad wonderingly. Merlin very evidently was not human, with his strange way of life, his pointy ears, and his supernatural abilities. He was magic, Arthur reminded himself. But Merlin was entirely loving and generous. Arthur felt himself brimming with affection instead of apprehension or fear. 

He gently placed his hand on Merlin's chest. The skin was hot to his touch. There was a heartbeat in there, steady and strong, but beating much slower than a human heart would. It was as if Merlin's whole body slowed down when he slumbered, like the land slows down in winter when nothing grows and everything waits for spring's wake-up call. Merlin truly was nature's creature. Bright and burbling like a spring brook, sunny like summer, and occasionally quiet and restrained like deep winter's rest. But no matter the season, Arthur realized that Merlin had always showed him calm and pleasant weather. He wondered whether Merlin had a tempestuous side. It seemed impossible to imagine.

Arthur leaned in to kiss Merlin's cheek. Merlin's lips were very plump and red. He smiled, but slept on.

x X x 

“Don't you feel lonely here?” Arthur asked one day, looking up through the green leaves to the drifting clouds and the vast blue sky.

“Lonely? Never,” Merlin replied, rolling over to look down into Arthur's pensive face. “The trees and birds and animals keep me company. The wood-nymphs come to dance with me in the morning mist. And the spirits of the lakes and brooks and hills.... I visit them often. And also...”

“What?” Arthur asked, fascinated. 

“There's life everywhere here,” Merlin said. “It thrums in the air and makes the ground vibrate. Can't you feel it?”

“No,” Arthur said sadly. “But I'd like to.”

He reached up and stroked a finger down Merlin's nose and across his lips. “What are wood-nymphs like?” 

Merlin laughed brightly. “Do you want to know if they go unclothed like me? You like that a lot!”

Arthur rolled his eyes and hoped he wasn't blushing too much. He reached behind Merlin, letting his hand slide down his back and across his arse. He caressed one firm buttock lovingly, then gave it a little pinch, and Merlin yelped. 

Arthur grinned. “Nooo, it's enough for me to have you here in the flesh.” 

He continued stroking Merlin's back. “I am happy you're not alone, Merlin. But don't you ever feel the need for strength in numbers? There are malignant powers in the world, evil sorcerers, dangerous magical creatures. What if some of them come here to harm you? There could still be Druids in the forest.”

“Oh, the Druids, they....” Merlin's face closed, and he rolled back over, lying next to Arthur in the grass. 

“I think your humans are the most dangerous creatures,” he continued quietly. “You cut down the trees, and burn the forests, pollute the sacred pools and lakes, and chase away the animals and the spirits. There's no harmony and no balance around your kind.”

Arthur shifted on the ground, his limbs going stiff with sudden tension. He went on the defensive instinctively.“Humans aren't that horrible, Merlin. We take what we need to make a living, that's all. And the magic we fight is evil and destructive. My father has dedicated his life to protecting our people from vile and dangerous sorcery.”

Merlin sat up. His face was serious, the laughter gone from his eyes. He tilted his head, birdlike, looked into Arthur's eyes, and didn't say a word. 

Arthur's heart sank. His eyes narrowed.

“Look,” he said, torn between the need to defend his father and Camelot, and the worry that he might hurt Merlin. “All magic obviously isn't evil. You've taught me that. Perhaps the fight may have gone too far on occasion. But it's all been done with the best of intentions. Father is the king, he must protect our people. Dark sorcery would destroy us all, if given the slightest chance. We must be vigilant and defend ourselves. The threat and the dangers are real and never far away!” 

He realized that his voice was getting louder and his tone angrier. He drew a deep breath. In this place there was a strange hollow ring to his own words, a discordant note of fear and ignorance. Arthur sensed it himself, and it annoyed him. He bit his lip and said no more. 

Merlin reached out and placed a hand across Arthur's eyes, blocking his vision. 

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin whispered, his voice sad. “After all we've shared, you are still so blind. I am sorry. I hope you'll learn to see in time.”

Arthur sighed and didn't move. When Merlin removed the hand, he kept his eyes closed. 

They sat next to each other in uneasy silence for a while. 

Eventually Merlin gripped Arthur's hand and squeezed it. “In any case, I am not defenceless, Arthur. I do have powers of my own, and they are not evil. They come from the earth and all things that grow and reach for the sun, and they endure. Do you want me to show you?”

Arthur nodded slowly, feeling slightly unwell. He had been conditioned all his life to fear magic, and the prospect of having it pointedly demonstrated in front of his eyes was daunting. But making amends with Merlin was much more important right now. 

“Yes. Please show me,” he said.

Merlin carefully removed one of the acorns from his oak leaf circlet. He held it up in the palm of his hand, and fixed the acorn with his bright blue eyes. Suddenly his eyes glowed golden. Arthur tensed.

“Look!” Merlin said. 

The acorn moved a little in his hand. It split in two. A small green tendril broke forth and started to stretch upwards. Tiny root shoots appeared, grew longer, and dug their way down between Merlin's fingers. The tender new plant spouted a tiny green leaf, and then another. 

Arthur looked back and forth between Merlin's mesmerizingly glowing eyes and the wonder of the acorn, bursting with new and accelerated life. It was developing into a perfect little oak sapling. 

Merlin smiled. “The magic of growth and renewal. I can wield it, and it wields me in return. That's who I am.” 

Arthur touched a finger gently to the sapling's topmost little leaf. “I should have known. Your magic isn't destructive. Your powers create and nurture,” he said, relieved. 

He leaned in to place a kiss on Merlin's cheek. “You're a force for good, Merlin. Thank you for showing me.”

Merlin looked down, the dark mop of hair and the oak circlet shielding his eyes. Arthur couldn't read his expression.

“My point stands, Merlin. Can your tender magic really protect you or your home here in the grove if destructive forces strike at you? I worry that you are all alone.”

Merlin laughed, a gentle sound. An animated flush crept across his cheeks. “Do you want to stay here permanently and protect me from the dangers of your world, Arthur? There's no need. I am not alone. You have been raised behind walls of stone. It seems clear to me that you do not understand the strength of nature. Water will wear down mountains. Flowers will break through rocks to reach the light. It takes time and patience, that's all.” He gestured at the majestic oak. “And the trees... my oak tree grows stronger and stretches ever higher while generations of you short-lived humans come and go and leave very little behind.”

Arthur stared at him as if he'd suddenly started speaking a new and incomprehensible language. He had never considered Merlin's age. He looked and behaved like a young man, recently out of adolescence. He was impulsive, bright-eyed and fey, with a seemingly sweet and innocent mind. But now he sounded both wise and ancient.

Merlin's eyes were sharp. “ Are you offering to defend me and my home with the might of your sword, Arthur? Or did you perhaps want to claim me – and this place – for your own?” 

Arthur shook his head. The thought had crossed his mind more than once, that much was true, but only because he wanted to make sure that Merlin was safe! Nevertheless he felt guilty, hearing the words spoken out loud like this. 

“No, no, Merlin. I wouldn't. You must live free.”

“Free....” Merlin said, leaving the word hanging in the air. 

He turned in the direction of the grassy spot where Arthur had tethered Caelia and left his clothes and gear behind. Merlin suddenly sped away so quickly that he looked like a blur to Arthur's eyes. 

Arthur started in surprise. He had often been intrigued by Merlin's preternaturally rapid movements, and had occasionally put them to good use during their frequent and energetic couplings. But now it served as one reminder too many of how different the two of them were. 

Merlin was back like the wind, gingerly carrying Arthur's sword in its scabbard. 

He gave it to Arthur. “Please, draw your sword and hold it up in front of me,” he said.

Arthur complied. 

It was a beautiful sword, made by the master sword-smith of Camelot, perfectly balanced, its lines elegant in their simplicity, and its bite lethal. Arthur was proud of his sword, and confident in his sword skills.

Merlin stepped closer and held the oak sapling beneath the bright blade, the tips of his fingers briefly making contact with the cold steel from above while the oak leaves touched the sword from below. He drew a pained breath. “Oww, iron burns! It does not agree with my kind.” 

His eyes glowed golden again, and green tendrils appeared as the tiny oak continued to grow, new shoots curling around the sword blade and reaching towards the sky. Arthur held the sword steady, looking back and forth between Merlin, the sword and the oak. 

Merlin did not move again for a while, but let the tree develop. Then he tensed, and his eyes blazed. He spoke, loud and forceful sounds filled with power. Arthur didn't understand them. The oak was pushing at the sword from below, and Arthur struggled to hold it in place. All of a sudden a tender shoot bored right through the blade, penetrating it from below. 

Merlin exhaled, his shoulders slumping. 

“No! Don't! This is impossible!” Arthur exclaimed in horror and let go of the sword. The oak tree kept it suspended in front of him. “It's ruined! Merlin, what have you done? Why?” 

Merlin sighed. “The life force is mightier than your cold steel,” he said quietly. “It grieves me that this still comes as a surprise to you.” 

Arthur reached out to grip the handle, shaking the sword, trying to dislodge the oak tree sapling. “My father will be furious!” 

“I did not intend to cause you trouble. Here, let me help you.” Merlin reached out to touch the sapling. The leafy shoot retreated between his fingers. Merlin closed his eyes and bit his lip in concentration. Then he looked up, relaxing. 

“There you are.”

Arthur looked at his sword in surprise and relief. It was whole again. He lifted it in his hand, weighing the blade, judging its balance. It felt the same. 

“Oh. That's.... Was that just an illusion? It looked real!”

“It was real. It was my reality.” 

Arthur's confusion showed on his face. 

“I left you a little reminder of this day,” Merlin said. “Your sword bears a mark now. Look!”

On the blade, right below the hilt, the perfect outline of an acorn had been etched into the steel. 

“It's.... “ Arthur looked up, impressed despite himself. “How did you do that?”

Merlin met his eyes and shrugged, a sad little smile crossing his face. Shielding the oak sapling with one hand, he turned to dig a small hole in the ground. 

“New life. It is powerful, but also vulnerable. I can only do so much,” he said. “I'm planting this little tree here for now. Other and more unpredictable forces will determine whether it is going to live and thrive. But I will do what I can to protect it.”

He patted Arthur's hand reassuringly. “Now do you see? It is true that there are powers and dangers that can harm me, but I do not need your protection, Arthur. Do not worry. If all else fails, there _is_ my liege lord. I know he'll come to my aid if I ever need it. And he is powerful.”

“Your _lord_?” Arthur asked, amazed and a little disappointed. He had learned many new things about Merlin today; – too many. “You serve a lord?” 

“My Lord Cernunnos. The lord of the hunt, and of fertility, growth, death and renewal. Some call him the horned god,” Merlin answered. His spoke in a low voice, and his tone was respectful.

“Oh,” Arthur said, feeling out of his depth, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “One of the old gods, is he? The ones the Druids serve? Have you ever.... actually seen him?”

Merlin didn't answer.

“Was he the one who told you that you are my destiny?” 

Merlin's face closed. “Maybe,” he said enigmatically, leaning in to touch his lips to Arthur's. “I want to couple with you again now,” he murmured. “I like it.”

“Insatiable, that's what you are,” Arthur spluttered, distracted in spite of himself. But he greeted Merlin's questing tongue with his own without hesitation, and pulled the dryad's warm body closer. 

“I like it too, Merlin,” he whispered into one of the elegantly pointed ears when they finally broke the lingering kiss. “There is nothing in this world that I like better.”

x X x 

High summer had turned into early autumn, and now autumn progressed slowly but steadily towards colder and leaf-bare times.

The bellowing of rutting stags could be heard booming through the oak grove. 

Deer, foxes and rabbits alike had all raised their young through the summer season and were preparing for leaner times ahead. Tusked boars occasionally came snuffling in the morning mist under the oaks, searching for food, but they always moved on. The songbirds had long since gone quiet. Squirrels and woodpeckers were moving among the branches of the tall trees instead, chattering while they gathered nuts and cones for their winter stores.

Although the kingdom of Camelot was still at peace, Arthur had more duties at court and among the knights back home. Uther was showing signs of impatience, muttering that dalliances in the outlying villages were all good and well, and young men needed to sow their wild oats, but there was a limit to the absences he was prepared to countenance. 

Morris stood politely behind Arthur during such royal outbursts. He kept the prince's secret. Morris had found a sweetheart in Longstead, the innkeeper's daughter, and he was as eager as Arthur to leave Camelot behind. Something akin to camaraderie had developed between the two of them, riding out on their hunting trips. Arthur knew that he could trust his manservant. 

Whenever Arthur could get away now to ride out to the grove, there was an increased intensity to his times with Merlin. 

They still played and coupled with happy abandon, but a new intimacy had grown between them, born of the mind as well as the body. 

Arthur was a doer, not a thinker. But even so, these stronger, truer emotions came from conscious respect for Merlin's real nature and appreciation for their opposing strengths. Where before he had tried to repress and forget Merlin's magic and their differences, now he increasingly embraced and enjoyed them. The two of them fit each other completely. He felt as if Merlin made him whole. 

Nothing thrilled Arthur more than when Merlin's eyes glowed golden as they climaxed together. 

One evening they lay nestled together on a bed of moss and fragrant drying grasses under the big oak, pleasantly warm despite the cool air and the sweat and semen drying on their bodies. 

Merlin drew a finger from the root of Arthur's spent cock across his abdomen and chest, up to his chin, tipping his head up and making him open his eyes. 

“Arthur, I have to say goodbye. It will be winter soon.”

“What – why? Are you going somewhere else?” Arthur's heart gave a jolt. He sat up, alarmed.

“I rest inside my tree in winter. It is getting late. My powers have been waning fast.”

Merlin rubbed his nose against Arthur's cheek, breathing his words into Arthur's ear. “I have been waiting for you to come back so I could tell you before I went to sleep. I didn't want you to just find me gone.”

“I couldn't get away because of the Harvest Tournament,” Arthur said, his lips feeling numb. "I won."

Then anger rose in him like a thundercloud. “I don't want us to be apart! Why didn't you tell me before?”

Merlin shook his head, amazed. “How would that have made a difference?”

Arthur jumped to his feet, breathing heavily. “I don't want to lose you! ” He turned away from Merlin, stomped off a few paces and kicked the yellow grass tufts aside furiously. “Damn you! Damn this!”

In a blink Merlin was at his side, latching on to him and stopping him in his tracks. “Arthur, it's not farewell for ever. Just for the winter. It can't be helped. I follow the life cycle of the grove.” 

Merlin embraced Arthur tightly, two slender arms squeezing him tight with considerable force. “Time flies so fast. I know that even you humans think so. It will be spring before you know it.”

Arthur felt a lump of dread in the pit of his stomach. Winter seemed to loom over him, miserable and endless. 

He couldn't think of anything more to say, and he knew that his anger was unreasonable. But Merlin had become the embodiment of freedom, pleasure, light and joy to him. Back home nothing seemed to wait but duties, rules, orders and training, - solitude behind the proud princely mask. With Merlin he was himself, and could relax. In Camelot he was the champion, the crown prince, always worrying about being found wanting. 

He embraced Merlin in turn, holding him close, breathing him in. “Promise me that we'll meet again.”

Merlin laughed, that burbling, happy sound he made when Arthur said something pleasing. 

“I want to give you something to remember me by.” He turned and in a leap was sitting on one of the lower branches of the majestic oak tree, many feet above ground, his long legs dangling above Arthur's head like an excited little child's. 

“Come, follow me!”

“You....want me to climb your tree?”

“Yes! Come, come!”

Arthur looked up with doubt in his eyes. The tree stood extremely tall. But he never refused a challenge; – he wasn't about to turn Merlin down. Slowly he reached for the lowest branch and hauled himself upwards.

They ascended the oak branch by branch, Merlin moving ahead like a squirrel, clearly in his right element among the drying brown-green leaves. Now and then he seemed to fade into the bark, one leg or an arm merging with the oak for a moment, but then he was whole again and continued to climb. 

Arthur followed him as best he could, huffing and puffing as he hauled himself skywards, his feet searching for leverage and his hands gripping on to the branches for dear life. He moved from the shade of heavy branches into spaces where some daylight seeped through, and then pulled himself up towards more dimness. The rough bark chafed his hands and thighs, and the smaller branches with dense, dull foliage scraped his skin. 

He was afraid to look down. 

“I will catch you if you fall!” Merlin warbled from above.

Grumbling, Arthur stopped for a moment while embracing a long meandering branch, looking up to gauge the best handhold. Merlin came back down so quickly it almost looked like he was flying. At the last moment he halted his progress, dangling from a branch in front of Arthur. 

“Do you need a little bit of encouragement?”

Arthur couldn't help laughing. “Merlin! You don't play fair!” 

Merlin's lovely cock and balls were swinging right in front of his face, the dryad's dangling legs splayed so as to offer the best possible view. Arthur leaned in, nuzzling Merlin's balls, inhaling the rich and earthy smell, and kissed the tip of his cock. 

“There's nothing little about your bits, but they _are_ encouraging. ”

Merlin shot upwards and out of reach. “Then follow me!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, smiled, - and continued climbing.

A way further up Merlin was swinging one-handedly off of a branch, picking dry leaves and acorns. He was humming happily. 

When Arthur reached him he had to rest. He straddled the broad branch he had just crawled on to, wiped sweat off his brow, and leaned against the bole. He was very out of breath. His throat was dry.

“How much further?” 

Merlin let go his handhold, dropped onto Arthur's branch, and stood there in front of him, completely at ease. “Rest here for a while.” 

With his fingers dancing in front of him, Merlin continued to hum, working with the oak leaves and the acorns too quickly for Arthur to follow what was happening. Then he saw what Merlin was making. 

“Is that a crown?”

Merlin sank down to his knees, balancing gracefully in front of Arthur. “It's for you.” 

Evening was approaching, and the shadows were growing heavy and long under the leaves above them. Merlin held up the oak circlet he'd made. It was similar to his own. Suddenly his eyes glowed like the sun. He fixed the new oak crown with his fiery gaze, and its wilting leaves turned fresh and green. One by one the acorns turned brightly golden, gleaming like jewels.

Arthur gasped. The circlet was a thing of captivating beauty, a delicate blend of nature and magic. 

Merlin leaned forward and reverently placed it on Arthur's head. His eyes were not golden any more, and his expression was serene. “My gift to you, prince Arthur Pendragon. An oak crown made for you, only you. It will not fade.”

The circlet did feel... right. There was enough weight to it that Arthur wouldn't forget it was there, but it fit him. It felt like a part of him. He reached up to touch it, carefully tracing the leaves. There was a faint shimmer from above that had to come from the golden acorns.

“Thank you, Merlin. It is beautiful.” 

Merlin smiled. “Wear it in happiness and think of me.”

Arthur suddenly felt sadness overwhelming him. “I will think of you all the time. I will miss you.”

Their eyes met for a moment, neither saying a word.

Merlin's wistful expression gave way to sudden mischief. His eyes shimmered with glee as he jumped to a higher branch, flailing a little as he gestured to Arthur. “Come, come! We've still some way to go!”

Arthur groaned. But as he gingerly got up to follow Merlin, he found to his surprise that the climbing came much easier to him, and he managed to move from one branch to the next with little trouble. 

At last the two of them reached the top of the tree. 

They could see the sky overhead, the last light of evening fading fast. There was no moon. 

Arthur sat down again, one arm crooked around a slim and tapering branch, the other around Merlin's hips. 

The ground was far below them. He couldn't even see it in the murk. The vast branches stretched far and wide around them. The topmost boughs were moving, swaying gently, billowing like waves on a lake. They were sitting on a living swing. 

There were trees as far as Arthur could see, miles upon miles of them, blending into the dusk.

Merlin leaned in, his skin warming Arthur's chest and thigh, and one of his calves rubbing against Arthur's. 

“This is where the falcons mate and nest,” Merlin murmured. His lips coasted along Arthur's jawbone, his breath sweet in the air between them. “They feel free and safe here. And so do I.”

“I am no bird,” Arthur muttered. He pulled Merlin even closer, leaning in to kiss his pointy ear. He felt intensely alive. “But the things you make me do – there's no end to it. Were you planning on mating here too?”

Merlin giggled and moved his hand across Arthur's skin. “No,” he said. “But if you want me to, I could....” 

Arthur silenced him with a kiss. “Just stay close to me,” he whispered. “Don't let me go.”

Merlin smiled against his lips. He turned his head slightly to the side. “Do you hear the rustling of the leaves? Look, the autumn stars are coming out,” he whispered, as if the shy stars could hear him and might hide again. “Aren't they beautiful?”

Arthur looked up, studying the sky above. Little by little the stars and constellations emerged, an intricate pattern of gold pinpricks on black. The earth and sky made him feel humble and small, but Merlin was heat and home and comfort at his side. 

They sat there for a long time, holding on to one another, close like twin acorns on a bough, breathing in time and admiring the vastness and beauty of the night sky. Merlin leaned his head on Arthur's shoulder, the oak circlet tickling his neck. 

“It feels like I'm flying,” Arthur said. “Flying with you to strange, secret places.”

Merlin reached up to cup Arthur's face. His own face seemed strained in the faint light of the golden acorns. He blinked with tiredness. Their bough moved gently beneath them. 

“Look up to the stars, but keep your feet on the ground, Arthur. And when the time is right, come back to me.” 

Merlin leaned in to touch his lips to Arthur's. Then without warning he turned insubstantial, slipping away from Arthur's hands and between his fingers like leaves on the wind, melting into the tree with a small soft sigh of regret. 

It happened very quickly. 

“No! Don't go! Stay just a little longer!” But Arthur was alone. “Merlin, Merlin, please come back!”

There was no response from the night. The only sound was the soft breaths of chill wind whispering among the branches and making the dry leaves shiver. 

There was darkness all around.

Arthur eventually made it back down to ground by the light of his oak crown. He felt as if he'd lost an essential part of himself. His heart was small and cold in his chest.

It was going to be a long, harsh winter. 

And he had never even told Merlin that he loved him.

 

**Part Two: The Cold King**

Every year, once the harvest was in, Camelot recruited new guards and soldiers among the young men from villages and farmsteads. Now Arthur threw himself into training these men, and he drove himself hard. He was up well before the winter dawn, and worked through the day. 

King Uther was pleased, and went so far as to sometimes pat his son's back, nodding briefly in approval. Although the king didn't say as much, clearly he thought his summer of leniency had paid off.

'Little does he know, and thank the old gods and the new for that,' Arthur thought to himself.

Every night he fell exhausted into bed, and dreamt of Merlin. The dreams were full of smiles and laughter, green leaves and sunlight, lips on lips, and skin on skin. He would wake to a wet spot on the sheets with embarrassing frequency. His longing for Merlin was like a constant physical ache. 

Winter set in, with icy gales whipping snow around the keep and the castle towers, and piling it in droves against every wall. The courtyard was almost deserted. People stayed indoors, huddling together near the fireplaces. 

One day Arthur wrapped his red cloak around himself and went out on the ramparts, looking out into the driving white. The blast of the storm and the frost were like punches to the gut. He thought of the forest grove and Merlin sleeping in his oak tree. He hoped the weather would not bring his dryad harm. It was hard to imagine anyone surviving such a blizzard unclothed in the wilds, but he reminded himself of Merlin's inner heat and his gloriously warm skin, and was comforted. Merlin and the oak tree had already lived through many long winters. 

Arthur had hidden Merlin's gift to him away from everyone, even from Morris. He kept the oak circlet in a locked box under his bed. On evenings when his longing was particularly strong, he'd open the box and take his circlet out to admire it. The leaves were still green, and the acorns brightly golden. The sight made him happy and eased his worries.

As winter wore on, Arthur went riding across the snowy fields and into the hills on hunts and patrols with the knights. They would return with fresh game to a Camelot that looked enchanted by a frost deity under the cold winter sun. 

Everything remained covered in sparkling white, but little by little the sun nevertheless worked its melting magic during daytime. There were icicles hanging from every roof and from the snouts of the gargoyles. The long shards looked like glass spikes and shimmering swords, ready to drop and maim unwary passers-by. 

Perhaps nature intended the icy weaponry as an omen of a brewing war, but Arthur didn't read the signs. His mind was off wandering under lush leaves with Merlin.

When the first early buds of spring appeared, and the snow had melted away in south-facing hillsides, he could hardly sit still with restless yearning. Soon the year's first flowers would open. The grass would turn green, and the sun would wake Merlin from his long sleep. Soon!

That was when the urgent messages reached Camelot. 

The cold season had been unusually harsh that year, and there had been food shortages and outbreaks of sweating sickness in the outlying villages.

Now a sudden uprising in the north was threatening to set the whole countryside ablaze. The hard times had made the villagers discontented and angry. They were disappointed that they'd received too little help from Camelot during the winter. And worse, the terrible fevers had claimed many children's lives, for there were no Druid healers that might have saved the little ones. 

Uther acted with characteristic harsh decisiveness. He immediately sent a troop of soldiers and knights north, led by the dependable and trustworthy Sir Leon. 

The king also started planning a larger campaign. The cry for Druid healing magic made him more unreasonable than he otherwise might have been. Still, he recognized that deprivation makes people desperate, reckless and unpredictable, and grudgingly had a number of wagons loaded with grain and barrels of salted fish. The food was sent north, following the route that the troops had taken. It wouldn't go far when divided among the many northern villages, but Camelot's stores were running very low, and Uther pointed out to Arthur that he first and foremost had to consider the army and the knights' well-being. Protection of the realm and its borders was his main priority. 

He ordered Arthur to stay in Camelot, to step up the training of the new recruits, and to join in on the campaign planning. 

Arthur watched the days slipping away with mounting worry. His life seemed to have contracted into one endless stint of map-reading, training drills and sword-fighting exercises behind tall walls of stone. Merlin's green grove seemed to belong to another reality.

The news that came back from the north was garbled. What Sir Leon therefore had to report to the king and his council was mostly hearsay, told to him by frightened refugees.

They said that the food wagons had been looted in the night, in a sudden attack carried out by hooded men wielding living fire; - men with glowing eyes. The drivers and guards had been killed, the oxen stolen, and the wagons burned. The local villagers had fled in fear of their lives.

Uther's cold fury was frightening. A living, breathing dragon in the council chamber could hardly have been more intimidating. The councillors were relieved to be dismissed.

“The Druids,” Uther said to Arthur once they were alone, spitting the words out angrily. “They're back. I have grown too lenient and complacent, believing that the war on magic has been won. But sorcerers are devious. They bide their time, and then they strike! Their evil schemes should never be underestimated. Now they're robbing the hungry villagers of food to spite Camelot!”

“The news is brief and ambiguous,” Arthur tried to reason. “Tales grow in the telling, and people have always feared the dark. The looters could be common outlaws, or brigands from Ascetir or Mercia. We do not truly know that Druids and sorcery were...”

“Nonsense! Sorcery ignited the flames! Sorcery lit their eyes! And now I will deal with this evil once and for all!” 

Uther banged both his gloved hands down on the large strategy table. The maps and cups on the table jumped. The king's empty wine flagon fell to the floor with a clank and rolled across the stone tiles. 

The wild gleam in Uther's eyes frightened Arthur. He had never seen him this outraged and unreasonable. He was not even sure whether his father was talking about the flames of rebellion, or the literal fires that had burned the wagons. 

The king's voice turned low and menacing. “You heard yourself that the villagers have been clamouring for the return of their so-called healers; - Druid charlatans, beguiling the ignorant with their devious magic tricks. The Druids are out there, hiding in the shadows.” 

Arthur made another attempt. 

“Shouldn't we wait for further proof, father? Such as the testimony of eyewitnesses, if there are any? It's not really clear what happened. Send a small group of experienced knights north to investigate, and....”

“Have you gone soft? Is this my son the crown prince talking?” Uther's voice was laced with cold contempt. “We must act swiftly, and decisively. The Druid sorcery must be uprooted. They've gone too far. It ends here. Is this clear enough for you?” 

“Of course, father. I'm only saying that...”

“No more talk! Obey me, and be silent!”

Arthur clenched his jaw, straightened his back and bowed his head. “Yes, Sire.”

Uther impatiently flipped through the maps. 

“I know what will strike at their very heart and show them that we are not daunted, that they cannot win. Where is that blasted map of the.... Ah! Here it is. The ancient so-called _sacred_ oak grove. It's going down!”

Arthur felt sick. “An.... oak grove?” The question came out like a croak.

Uther shrugged, and drained his goblet. “You know too little of our adversaries. That must be remedied. These Druids claim to worship among large oak trees. A ruse, of course; - in reality they hold nothing sacred. During the scourge informants told me of a grove in the forest of Balor which supposedly is the most revered of them all. I let it be at the time; – the trees were far from any township, it would require too much effort to make use of the lumber. But I won't make the same error twice. That oak grove is for the axe.”

“No!” Arthur bit his tongue to stop more words from escaping. But it was too late. Uther turned and looked at him suspiciously, his eyes mere slits as he regarded his son.

“What is the Druids' oak grove to you? What is your interest in this?”

Arthur hesitated. He had no reply. 

Uther stepped closer. His voice dropped to a low growl. “Who was it you kept riding off to meet last summer? Where did you go? Don't tell me you were foolish enough to strike up a dalliance with a Druid girl.”

Arthur felt himself going pale. He shook his head. “No, no, I did not.”

“Who, then? Speak up, and quickly!”

“I will tell you! She is an innkeeper's daughter at Longstead! She doesn't know who I am.”

“Describe her!”

“Blue eyes, dark hair, pale skin....” Arthur was sweating and his heart was racing. He forced himself to stand his ground and to look his father square in the eye. “She has the sweetest laughter I've ever heard.”

“Very well.” Uther drew a breath, and looked around the chamber, annoyed. “Where's the wine?” 

“I can send for more, Sire, if you'd...”

“Never mind. Why do you oppose me in the matter of the oak grove? Explain yourself, Arthur.”

“I do not mean to oppose you, Sire. It's just that I fear that this venture may cost Camelot more than we'll be willing to pay. If the trees are that precious to the Druids, the tribes will surely not stand by and let our men work in peace. They'll try to protect the place, by any means they possess. It could get ugly.” 

Uther listened without comment. 

Arthur forged on, relieved to have his father's attention. “The supply lines will be long and go through inhospitable terrain. There are dense forests where our workers may be ambushed. We would have to deploy much of our armed forces to protect the lumberjacks and the transports back home. Shouldn't we rather keep our forces ready to protect the borders and main roads?”

Uther nodded, returning to the table and looking at the maps with a frown. “You are right that it will be a costly and risky endeavour in many ways. But I am prepared to pay the price. I intend to uproot sorcery within our borders once and for all.” 

The king sat down in his elaborately carved chair at the end of the table. He rubbed his chin, looking pensive. “And we'll make good use of that wood. Those oaks will make excellent building material for a new grand hall and barracks here at Camelot, or we can trade the lumber to Mercia. They'll pay well for quality oak wood to be used in their shipbuilding.”

Uther looked up and made a cutting gesture. “I have made my decision.”

“Yes, father.”

“You had better go ready the troops.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“And tell those morons to bring me more wine!”

“At once, Sire.”

Arthur bowed to his father and left the council chamber. He stopped the first servant he saw and ordered her to bring good wine into the council chamber. Then he put on his light riding armour and went directly to the stables. He saddled Caelia himself, and soon rode out of the main gate at a gallop without a single backwards glance.

He made straight for the oak grove.

x X x 

Caelia sensed her master's urgency.

Never before had Arthur made the journey between Camelot and Merlin's oak grove this quickly. He had to stop now and then to let Caelia breathe and drink from the meltwater-heavy brooks and streams, but he himself could hardly rest.

The coming of spring was in evidence along the way. There were green shoots and fresh leaves everywhere. Carpets of tender white and yellow flowers covered the forest floor in places, soaking up the sunlight that filtered through the budding branches. 

Arthur was blind to all of this. He rode on with a sense of foreboding and desperation. How could he have imagined that his return to Merlin would be like this? He wondered whether he might encounter Druids. There had been no sign of the tribes last summer, but if their sorcery was as potent as Uther believed, they might have gathered now and be standing ready to protect the grove.

But he saw no sign of humans anywhere in the forest, nothing but nature opening up and enjoying the return of spring.

He reached the oak grove late in the day. The sun was dipping behind the trees, but a muted daylight lingered. Arthur slid down from Caelia's back, and gratefully patted her flank for a moment. She stood with drooping neck and was breathing heavily. The horse, like her master, was bone tired.

Arthur hurried on aching legs in among the trees, and reached Merlin's oak in the middle of the grove. He stopped before the mighty bole, relieved at having come this far. 

The forest was quiet. The tentative hush unique to early spring evenings lingered in the grove, and there was a fresh quality to the air. 

A bird trilled briefly nearby, but fell silent. 

Arthur walked slowly around the tree. A layer of fallen brown leaves covered the ground, but slender green blades of grass had started to emerge. The dry oak leaves rustled with every step Arthur took. He looked up towards the crown of the ancient tree. The layers of branches above branches stood ready with buds. No leaves had emerged yet. 

“Merlin? Merlin! Are you here? Can you hear me?”

There was no reply. The bird in the next tree over sang a short series of sweet notes in reply, then stopped, as if it wanted to teach Arthur to respect the quiet of the evening. He paid it no heed.

“Merlin! Wake up! Wake up!”

Arthur threw his gauntlets to the ground and placed both palms against the rough bole. He pushed against the wood, repeating his calls. His voice was turning increasingly frantic. 

“Merlin, it's Arthur! I need you to wake up!”

He circled the oak, beating his palms against the rough bark, and calling out again and again. 

“Merlin! You have to listen! Wake up!”

He sensed, rather than heard, a soft sigh, a sleeper's instinctive protest at being woken too early. Arthur's heart skipped a beat. He waited, forgetting to breathe for a moment. 

“Merlin?”

There was a movement above his head. He looked up, his eyes going wide. A shape, a nearly translucent part of a limb, emerged from the bark and was pulled back. And elbow? Could it be Merlin's arm?

“Merlin, please wake up! It's a matter of life and death!”

There was the sound of a yawn, then a creaking noise, and the full arm emerged. Arthur recognized Merlin's pale hand with the long, slim fingers. Relief flooded him. He stood on tip-toe, reached up, and managed to touch his palm to Merlin's lax hand. The skin was colder than he'd ever felt it before. Merlin had always been so warm.

“Merlin, are you awake? Can you hear me?” 

A long shapely leg emerged from the oak, and then another. The toes wiggled. With a sudden loud crack the oak tree let its hibernating resident go. Merlin's full form appeared. He tumbled to the ground, lying curled up and unmoving on the dry leaves. 

Arthur threw himself down next to the dryad and pulled him into his arms, holding him tight, tight. 

“I heard you,” Merlin mumbled.

“Merlin, thank the old gods and the new that you're awake! I feared I could not reach you!”

Merlin yawned, his pink tongue wetting his lips. He blinked up at Arthur drowsily. 

There were red creases across Merlin's fair skin, as if he'd slept in a very tight place. His blue eyes were mere slits in his tired face, but then his smile broke forth like the summer sun from behind clouds. 

“Arthur! I have been dreaming of you all through the long night! And here you are!” 

Merlin reached up, touching his fingertips briefly to Arthur's cheek. Then he lifted both arms, snaking them around Arthur's neck and pulling him down so they were resting nose to nose. Merlin's soft breaths whispered across Arthur's sweaty skin. For a moment Arthur felt chill lips pressed against his cheek.

“Arthur, I'm happy to see you! But it's cold still and I wasn't ready. I would have slept longer. The sap has just begun to rise. Why have you woken me before my oak is in leaf?”

Arthur opened his mouth, and closed it. He could not get the words out. Sudden grief and fatigue rose like a flood-wave in his chest. 

He sat up, and with an abrupt motion tore at the clasp at his throat. Rising to his feet, he swept his cloak off his shoulders and draped it on the ground by the oak tree. “Come, let us lean against your oak, here in this hollow. Rest against me if you need it, Merlin. I'm sorry for waking you too soon.” 

Merlin placidly followed Arthur, crawling onto the rich cloth and into the nook created by the big tree's roots. 

He shuddered a little as Arthur pulled him close in a firm embrace and buried his face in Merlin's tousled dark hair. Merlin's oak circlet had changed. The acorns were still there, but its thin brown twigs carried mere buds now, not leaves. 

Arthur pulled the fresh forest smell of Merlin deep into his lungs. Merlin twisted against him to make himself more comfortable. “You are wearing your ugly metal skin again. I don't like it. It's cold and in the way. Take it off.”

Arthur swallowed. There was nothing he wanted more than to return to the carefree and sunny days of frolicking nude under the green leaves, Merlin's body warm and eager against his. But there was no time now to spend on hopes and dreams. 

“I can't, Merlin. I have come here to warn you. You're in great danger. A war has broken out between Camelot and the Druids. My father... the king of Camelot intends to fell your oak, to cut down all the trees in your grove.” 

Arthur gripped Merlin's shoulders and looked into his face, communicating the urgency. “You have to leave at once, or you may get caught or killed!” 

Merlin's eyes went wide with dismay. “My oak? Fell my oak? Why would they do such a terrible thing?” He looked up to the boughs above, majestic even without their full foliage, and his bright eyes filled with tears. 

Arthur had never seen him crying before. He wanted to cry too. His throat seized up. He let go of Merlin.

“My oak is ancient and beautiful and alive. Why would your humans do it harm?”

“Merlin, I'm so sorry. I can't tell you how much. I have tried to make father see sense. I have tried, but he just won't listen. 'Why' is not important now, only that it will happen, and soon. Merlin, can't you move somewhere else? Is there anywhere I can take you? You truly need to go. There's not much time!”

Merlin reached up to touch Arthur's cheek again, a sad little smile on his pinched face. “I can't leave. This is my home.”

“You have to! You're all alone here. Many men are coming, with cold steel, swords and axes! Your powers of growth and renewal can't fight off a whole army, can they?”

“No,” Merlin said, his expression pensive. “I am charged with protecting this grove, but I don't think I can. Not on my own, that is...”

The last words were left hanging in the still air, and Arthur felt a new fear squeezing his heart. He remembered Merlin talking of his liege lord, one of the old gods. Could he call a powerful deity into battle to save the oak grove? That was a confrontation Arthur did not want. He loved Merlin, but his duties still lay with Camelot, which he was honour bound to protect. 

“I don't want you to try fighting them, Merlin. They are my people, I am their prince. I would not see you pitted against them. It would break my heart. Yes, I know that their plans are wrong and seem evil, and I will try to stop them with all my might. But I need to know that you are safe first, that you're far away from here.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said gently, taking Arthur's hand and squeezing it. “I can't leave. I am bound to my tree. Its fate is mine. When my oak dies, I die.” 

Arthur stared at Merlin, horrified. 

Merlin bowed his head. “I had thought that we would have a long life in front of us yet.” He smiled a little. “I had hoped for many more summers with you. Your laughter, and your happy face, and your lovely cock.” 

“Merlin!”

“Where is your oak crown, Arthur?”

“My - what? It's hidden away back home. It's safe.”

Merlin nodded, his long lashes veiling his eyes. “You will always have some part of me with you as long as you keep your circlet close.”

Arthur pressed both hands to his forehead. His head hurt. Physically he was close to exhaustion, and his mind was in turmoil. 

“Are you certain that you cannot leave this oak tree and move to another? Have you ever tried?”

“I am certain. Have _you_ ever tried to leave home without your skin? _This_ skin?” Merlin pinched the tender side of Arthur's neck below his ear. It stung.

Arthur sighed. “No. No, of course I haven't. It's not possible.” 

They sat side by side for a moment in silence. It would soon be night, and it was nearly dark under the oak. They would not be able to see each other. The air was chill. 

Merlin leaned in, seeking Arthur's lips in a tender kiss. “Stay here with me tonight, Arthur. I feel how tired and sad you are, and I am very cold. Stay here and warm me. We'll feel better for it.”

Arthur blinked. He felt numb. He should be able to think of a plan, a way to avert disaster, but he was too tired now. 

“Yes, I'll stay. I just have to go tend to my horse. Rest here and wait for me.” He got to his feet and laboriously made his way back to Caelia. His whole body ached as if he'd taken a beating. 

After seeing to Caelia's needs, he left his weapons and armour with the horse, and returned naked to Merlin's side. 

Arthur and Merlin spent the night in the nook of the ancient oak roots, cocooned within Arthur's warm crimson cloak. They lay entwined, skin against skin, breathing each other in. Merlin had snuggled close, but afterwards lay quite limp against Arthur's chest. He reminded Arthur of a butterfly that had been ripped from its chrysalis too soon, before its metamorphosis was fully completed.

Arthur slid his hand up and down Merlin's back, rubbing the skin gently. He willed him to gain strength, or to borrow all of Arthur's if need be.

Merlin's heart was beating even more slowly than before. His powers had to be slumbering still.

Arthur held him tight in the darkness and fervently wished and prayed that he would somehow find the way to secure that heart's steady beating for many more years to come. 

If not, how could his own heart survive? 

In the pitch dark he kissed one of Merlin's pointy ears. He had always admired their distinct shape. “I love you, you know,” he whispered, believing Merlin to be asleep. 

Merlin moved a little in his arms. He didn't speak, but he opened his eyes. They glowed, golden and bright, like two shimmering stars in the night.

x X x 

Two days later Arthur crossed the bridge and passed under the portcullis towards the gate to Camelot's courtyard. Caelia was walking slowly, head down, and Arthur sat drooping on her back. It had been a long, weary ride.

The guards at the inner gate stepped forward and crossed their spears in front of him. Their captain called out to a soldier in the guard room. “Tell the king at once that prince Arthur has returned!”

He then turned back to Arthur with a slight apologetic bow. “I must ask you to follow me at once, your highness. You are under arrest.” He looked uncomfortable. “Orders of the king,” he added unnecessarily.

The guards surrounded Arthur and took his sword and dagger. He gave up his weapons without protest, and followed them quietly to the throne room. 

King Uther looked up once the little group entered the room, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red as soon as he saw Arthur. He rose to his feet and stepped down from the dais.

“Leave us, but wait outside the door,” he ordered. The guards hurriedly followed orders. The door swung shut behind them with a clank.

Uther stepped closer, his eyes hard and cold. Arthur had never seen his father this enraged. He adopted a deferential posture, but stood his ground. 

“You disobeyed me. You lied to me!” Uther spat. “Where do your true loyalties lie, Arthur?”

“With Camelot, father. Always with Camelot. That will never change.”

Uther swung away, walking over to a side table, his hands in their black gloves clasped tightly behind his back. “How could you disappoint me like this? Explain your actions.” 

“I have been to the oak grove, father. It is majestic, and ancient, and beautiful. It belongs to the land. We should protect it, not plan to cut it down. Whatever our disagreements with the Druids, the trees are not to blame. ”

“Disagreements?” 

“Call it a feud if you must, or a rebellion. The words used do not change my point. Camelot's ruler should be able to fight the evil of sorcery and still take care of the land.”

Uther snorted. “Who put these suddenly so _peaceful_ thoughts into your head?”

“That is unreasonable. No-one has done more than me to train the recruits and lead the knights.” Arthur struggled to remain calm and to keep his voice respectful. He was bone tired, and it was hard to keep his temper under control. 

“I have never met a Druid in my life, father. To that, I will swear any oath you may require. No human being, Druid or otherwise, has influenced me in this matter. I love Camelot, and want to see her prosper and her beauty grow, but not on the ruins of that which should have been protected.”

“Nonsense! Camelot needs building material to remain strong and powerful. Her defences cannot be built from air and empty wishes. You seem to forget there's a war going on. We are under attack, and you talk of landscapes and trees and pretty flowers. At best you're going soft in the head, Arthur. At worst....”

Uther held back. His eyes were dark. From the yard outside the chamber window they could hear a loudly shouted command and the sound of marching feet. 

“At worst?” Arthur prompted.

“At worst you're a traitor, enchanted by the lies and blandishments of the Druids,” Uther said, his voice devoid of emotion. “My only son. I have been foolish. I should have known you'd be a target. Instead I let you run wild.”

Arthur opened his mouth to deny the charges, but Uther did not let him speak. “Guards!” he roared. 

The men waiting outside burst into the room, weapons at the ready. 

“Take Prince Arthur to the dungeons...”

“Father!”

….and keep him there under heavy guard for a week. On no account should he be let out.”

“Sire! Please listen to me! Throw me in the dungeons if you must, I don't care, keep me there for months, but do not continue this campaign to cut down the sacred oak grove! Please, reconsider. Listen to me. I beg you!”

Uther shook his head impatiently. “Be quiet! You need to be taught a lesson. I will see you in one week. I hope your good sense has returned to you by then. But be that as it may, that oak grove will be gone.” 

The king gestured to the guards. “You have your orders. Move!”

“No! Don't do this! No!”

Two men grabbed Arthur's arms and started pulling him towards the door. Instinctively he fought back. He had to get through to his father. He had to! 

“This will end badly, I know it! Don't do this! Father, I beg you. If you care for me at all, please! Leave the grove be!”

“I told you to remove the prince!”

It took four armed guards to wrangle Arthur out of the throne room. He struggled and fought tooth and nail against them, but in the end they managed to overpower him. They dragged him down the stone stairs to the deepest dungeons. He was thrown none too gently onto the stale hay and cold cobblestones of the innermost cell. 

The heavy iron door slammed shut behind him. There was a sour smell in the dim air. 

Arthur got to his feet and gripped the bars, shaking them furiously. 

“Let me out! I need to see the king!”

But the guards pretended not to hear. Their orders were clear, and they feared the king's wrath. 

The burning torch fixed in the dungeon wall flickered in the draft as they left. Arthur was alone. 

Over the next few days he raged, and pleaded with the guards, and shook the bars of his cell till his fingers bled. 

The king did not relent. Through the grille in the stone roof Arthur heard the noise of the army leaving Camelot. There was the distinct sound of cavalry, and the creaking of heavy wooden wheels. The lumberjacks who followed the army were bringing large carts to carry the timber back home. 

Then silence reigned for days on end. Arthur retreated to the far wall of the cell and sat with his back to the cold stone, brooding in the near darkness. His thoughts kept flitting between anger and despair. He remembered Merlin's laughing eyes and glorious smile, and told himself not to give up. He had to cling to the hope that Merlin would find a way to save the grove. 

Morris came down to his cell every day, bringing food and fresh water. His earnest face under his curly brown hair had a constant look of worry and more than a trace of pity. He had no news of the knights' and troops' progress after they left Camelot, and he knew no way to get Arthur out of his locked and heavily guarded cell. 

Arthur appreciated Morris's honest devotion, but nevertheless wished that he'd had a more resourceful manservant. He would even have welcomed a spot of magic at this stage, if it could only have freed him from his prison. 

Exhausted, Arthur slept in fits and turns, only to wake up with a jolt from nightmares where the big oak came crashing down, and Merlin crumpled into dust and ashes. 

He drank a little water, but found it difficult to force any food down. 

Although the grille in the roof let in a little daylight, he lost track of the days. Had five days passed now? Six? What had Morris said – was the week almost over? 

At last the main iron door was thrown wide, and the guards came to attention. Uther himself ducked through the door and squinted in the darkness, pulling a face at the stench. He marched towards Arthur's cell, the angry sound of his riding boots loud against the dank stone paving. 

Arthur got to his feet. He braced himself and stood waiting in silence.

His father halted outside the cell. He seemed to be in an extremely foul mood. 

“Well? Have you come to your senses, Arthur?”

Arthur didn't reply. 

Uther gestured impatiently. “You're a fool. Your fine friends the Druids do not share your tender sensibilities and do not care if the land suffers. Their only aim is to strike at us, and they'll go to any length to do so. They just did.” 

Arthur still said nothing. His heart felt small and cold in his chest. He waited for the axe to fall.

“They got to the oak grove before us. When the knights arrived, there was nothing left but charred earth and a rain of ashes. Rather than let us have the trees, the Druids set fire to the oak grove and burned every last tree down!”

x X x 

Arthur returned to the grove as soon as he was released from the cell. He didn't care what his father might have to say. He would not - _could_ not - believe Uther's terrible tale before he saw the devastation with his own eyes.

This time he rode his destrier, Hengroen. The stallion was not as quick as Caelia, but he was stronger and trained for battle. Arthur was going to the site of the grove, and neither friend nor foe was going to stand in his way. 

He brought Morris along as far as Longstead. The prince and his manservant followed the trail made by the troops and lumber wagons. The army had left churned mud and deep tracks all the way from Camelot to the grove, like gore and scars across the landscape. 

On the first stretch from Camelot they rode past army encampments. Arthur didn't slow down or even acknowledge the calls when the guards hailed him. 

Further on the land was silent. Birds and beasts had fled in fear before the advancing army, and had yet to return.

The last stretch Arthur travelled alone. He did not feel the frantic urgency of the previous ride. His heart was heavy. Whatever had happened, had already happened, and he would be too late to make a difference.

He noticed the change long before he reached the site of the grove. In the distance there was an empty space in the sky where tall oaks once lifted their topmost branches towards the sun. 

Hengroen sidestepped once, shying from the strange acrid smell that hung in the air between the trees. The stench got stronger as they approached the grove. 

The ground was blackened now and the trees were charred. Grey dust covered everything. Only two weeks before, the first green leaves and pale spring flowers were visible here. 

A cold wind gusted across the land and sent grey flakes of ash twirling through the air like snow flurries or smoke, a silent and bleak dance of destruction. 

It became difficult to breathe. It was impossible to see clearly. 

Arthur reached the site of the grove at last, and halted Hengroen at the edge. The destrier whinnied uneasily and tossed his head, but stood his ground at his rider's command. 

The stretch of land before them looked barren. Thick layers of soot covered everything. Indistinct shapes, buried under grey debris, dotted the ground. The intense smell and the ashes in the air made Arthur's eyes run. He sneezed and had to quell a fit of coughing. Covering his nose and mouth with a blackened hand, he drew a slow and steadying breath, gathered his last fraying threads of hope, and called out as loudly as he could. 

“Merlin! Merlin, are you near? Merlin? Please come back to me! Merlin!” 

There was no answer. Arthur had known there would be none. The eerie silence was oppressive and final.

The grove was completely gone, leaving a hollow space behind. This was a graveyard, covered in the ugly black of mourning. It was as if everything that was beautiful and bountiful and vibrant, all that was full of sun and life and laughter, had been ripped at once from reality. Every quality that had been Merlin's was missing from this place. Only a dark void remained. 

By now both Arthur and Hengroen were covered in grey ash. Arthur looked like a phantom rider, haunting the sad place where he once enjoyed life. 

He felt like a ghost too, empty and insubstantial. Everything seemed unreal. 

His best beloved had gone up in ashes here, and could never be reclaimed. This was where hope and love had died.

Hope and love, but not duty. Arthur was still the crown prince of Camelot. His people still depended on him. Now the king's moods had grown increasingly violent and unpredictable, perhaps they needed him even more than before.

He could not stay here. 

“Goodbye, Merlin,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I will never forget. Never. I promise you that in living on, I will honour who you were, and what we shared, and what you taught me.”

Arthur lifted his hand in a solemn gesture of oath-taking and farewell.

Then he turned Hengroen around and rode away without once looking back. 

It started raining, a light drizzle that soon turned heavier and drenched both rider and horse. Little by little much of the ashes and dust were washed away. It ran in dirty rivulets down Arthur's face and armour, and his tears mingled with the rain. Now and then he swiped away the worst of it with a dirty glove. 

Arthur picked up Morris outside Longstead. He was glad of his manservant's silent companionship, but refused both food and rest. 

All of a sudden a new unease was driving him on, a sense that he was urgently needed at home. Could the rebellion have reached the castle, or was some other and unforeseen danger menacing the kingdom? The well-being of Camelot's people was his responsibility, his solemn duty was to protect them; - just as it had been Merlin's duty to take care of the oak grove. Like Merlin, he was prepared to give it his all. 

They approached Camelot the next afternoon. Arthur was relieved that there was nothing different or unusual to see. The land, the army encampments and the far-off castle looked the same, but nevertheless his sense of foreboding lingered and grew stronger. 

A red-cloaked knight appeared in the distance, riding full tilt away from the castle. Once he noticed Arthur and Morris, the knight turned in their direction, raising his hand in the air to signal that he needed to speak with them. Soon he was close enough for Arthur to recognize him; – it was Sir Leon. 

He halted Hengroen and sat without moving, waiting for the news.

“Your highness!” Leon had to take a few breaths before he could continue. His horse was fidgeting, as if sensing its rider's distress. 

“Your highness, I bring you the most grievous tidings. King Uther... your father the king suffered a stroke in the night. He passed away this morning.”

Arthur opened his mouth, and closed it again. At first he was unable to process the words. 

Leon got down off his horse and knelt on the ground before Hengroen, bowing low before looking up into Arthur's weary and dirty face. 

“Sire. I acknowledge you my liege lord and the rightful king of Camelot. Long may you reign in peace and prosperity.” 

Arthur still didn't speak. He remained as still as a statue.

Eventually Morris nudged his horse closer and placed a hand gently on Arthur's sleeve, giving it a little squeeze. “Your highness.... Sire. I am deeply sorry for your loss. But there is much to do. We must continue to Camelot.” 

Arthur slowly turned his head in Morris' direction. The new king's face had gone deathly pale under the streaks and smudges of dirt, and his eyes were shadowed.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, much to do. For the love of Camelot. Let us go home.”

Arthur rode at a measured pace through the cobbled streets towards the castle keep. His back was ramrod straight, and his face impassive. Astride his magnificent destrier he looked like a battle-weary but victorious hero, ready to take up the rule. 

The news of his return flew through the town and the castle, and everyone hurried out into the streets to see him coming. 

The sun was sinking towards the horizon behind him. Its last slanting rays gilded his hair. It looked as if he was already wearing a golden crown. 

“The king is dead, long live the king!” Leon shouted behind Arthur. 

One by one everyone joined in as the call was repeated. Knights and soldiers, villagers, burghers and servants, men, women and children; - all of them shouted as Arthur rode by, and the sight of him reassured and inspired them all. 

“The king is dead, long live King Arthur! Long live the king! Long live the king!”

 

**Part Three: The Horned God**

It was dusk. Arthur waited at the forest's edge, wrapped in a heavy royal robe. Morris stood behind him, ready to serve his king as always. 

They were surrounded by a silent group of Druids, dressed in long hooded cloaks in a variety of muted colours. 

Arthur felt self-conscious and out of his depth, but he was determined to carry the ritual through. Outwardly he looked proud and calm, and his expression was solemn.

From the woods the bellow of a rutting stag could be heard, surprisingly early for the season.

The Druid elder Taliesin turned his head in the direction of the booming sound, and nodded. He clapped his hands once. No-one moved, and silence descended over the field. The stag was not heard again.

At last Taliesin spoke, his voice more forceful than Arthur had ever heard it before.

“I call upon the ancient gods, I call upon the power of land and air, I call upon my lord Cernunnos. Accept this man as he walks between the worlds to make them one. He is now the Chosen One of the tribes. Show him your favour and grant him your strength, oh powerful one.”

He signalled to Arthur, who moved forward and let Morris divest him of his robe. He was completely nude underneath. 

Arthur's skin pebbled, and not only because of the chill in the air. It was a significant challenge for him to take part in this ancient mystery and accept its magic without reservations. But he was committed. Merlin would have wanted him to do this.

Taliesin stepped closer with a small bowl of blue paint in his hand. While chanting strange and incomprehensible words under his breath, he started painting shapes and signs on Arthur's body; triskelions, circles within circles, and undulating shapes like waves. 

Wherever the brush touched Arthur's skin there was a burning sensation, as if he was being painted with living fire. Arthur let it happen. He focused on standing tall and breathing evenly. 

He studied the old man at work. Taliesin looked different. There was pride in his bearing, a golden shimmer in his eyes, and his incantations carried an almost visible power. Arthur realized that he was definitely in the presence of one of the most powerful sorcerers in the realm. 

Taliesin's voice rose in a final word of command, and then he stepped back. “It is done.”

He turned to one of his fellow Druids, a younger woman wearing a pale blue cloak. “Bring forward the god's casket.” 

The tall wooden box that was placed in front of Arthur was worn with age, and covered in faded blue symbols like those painted on his own body. Taliesin reverently opened the lid and lifted out a pair of magnificent stag's antlers. The living animal that once carried them would have been a king of the forest. 

“Kneel,” Taliesin said. Arthur complied without comment. The old man was audacious to speak so to the king, but this clearly was part of the ritual. 

Taliesin once more spoke words that Arthur didn't understand. The Druid lifted the antlers towards the sky, held them up high for a moment, and then pressed them down on Arthur's head. They were heavy. Arthur did not understand what held them in place, but they immediately felt like a natural part of him and seemed firmly affixed to his head. 

“Rise”.

As Arthur got back on his feet, Morris gasped in awe behind him. Arthur could sense it himself; – he was different, he wasn't completely human any more. 

The young Druid woman now handed Taliesin a string of red berries. It was Arthur's turn to let out a gasp, despite his best intentions to be quiet. It was a shock to suddenly see something that reminded him so much of Merlin. 

Taliesin leaned forward and tied the string around Arthur's loins, in just the way Merlin wore it. Arthur felt a lump in his throat even as he felt the power of elemental urges coursing through his body. He held his antlered head high.

It was because of Merlin's lessons of love those five years ago that he was doing this. 

Taliesin bowed before him. “Your highness, you are ready. Go now to meet your destiny, such as the lord Cernunnos decrees that it will be.” 

The ring of Druids opened up, showing Arthur a way out of their circle in the field. He walked slowly towards the dark forest's edge, shoulders back and neck stiff in order to balance the heavy antlers. 

Once he stepped in among the trees he started running. He raced among the trees like the stags he used to hunt for sport in his days as crown prince. It was nearly dark. He didn't know where he was running to, nor why, but he knew it was the right thing to do. His every limb felt on fire.

He ran on without pause through the night.

x X x 

By this time, more than five years had passed since Arthur was crowned king of Camelot.

In the course of his reign the country had seen significant changes. Arthur himself was not the same. He had developed and grown along with his realm. The young king had worked tirelessly to strengthen Camelot and to bring unity and prosperity to its people, - all its people. 

There had been no time for Arthur to reflect on his grief over Merlin or his guilt over having possibly caused his father's stroke. All his waking hours had been filled with the action of the moment, the rule and defence of Camelot. 

At first, immediately after King Uther's burial, there'd been a joint invasion attempt by King Cenred of Essetir and King Bayard of Mercia. Arthur had driven himself and his men mercilessly. They had managed to beat the invaders back in battle, and he had gained the neighbouring kingdoms' grudging respect. 

The borders were safe now, and the truces held. Alliances were currently being negotiated with several other rulers, among them the formidable Queen Annis of Caerleon. 

To the surprise of many, Arthur had rejected several offers of eligible princesses for his royal spouse as part of the peace negotiations and alliance building. He remained unmarried. 

In his own realm of Camelot Arthur had little by little introduced reforms to the laws and the king's rule. New courts of law and local magistrates had been appointed. The roads between townships were being improved. Emergency stores had been established to ensure that relief would reach the people during famines or disasters in the outlying villages. 

After his first five years on the throne Arthur was beloved, trusted and admired among his people. A fair and courageous young king with impressive battle skills, foresight and a level head; they could wish for nothing more.

The ban on magic had been removed by increments. 

At first the Druid healers were allowed back among the people. Next the worship of the old gods was allowed, and the ancient magic rituals could be celebrated in safety. 

Harmful sorcery was still illegal and severely punished, but only after due investigation into the truth of each matter. Allegations of dark magic often turned out to be lies or mere superstitions. Many a village wise woman would have been burned at the stake if King Uther's laws had still been in force. Now they could practice their herb medicine and offer their charms without fear. 

Arthur, like his father, kept a council of nobles and persons of merit to advice him in matters of state and government. One by one he had introduced new councillors with a wide range of viewpoints. The latest addition had been a Druid elder, one year ago. This had been a bit of a gamble on Arthur's part. He was still on uneasy and wary terms with the Druids. There was too much distrust and too much bleak recent history creating a divide between them.

But Taliesin had proved worthy of his task. He was restrained in his advice and unassuming in appearance, a slender elderly man sporting a neat grey beard and sometimes using a knotted staff to lean on. He repeatedly showed deep insight into human nature, and was always respectful of the king whom he observed with keen eyes. Nevertheless, he was outspoken in matters touching on humankind's responsibilities in honouring and preserving the balance of nature. Arthur could almost hear Merlin's voice whispering along with the old man's words.

It was Taliesin who suggested to Arthur that the time had come for the king to be unified with the land in accordance with the ancient rituals. It would benefit Camelot and make her whole and well, and it would heal the remaining rift between the Druids and the king. 

The ritual of unification contained elemental and very strong magic, he explained.

Arthur weighed the matter in his mind. He was in doubt. Would this be going too far? Would he be appeasing the Druid tribes while alienating the majority of Camelot's people? 

Alone in his bedchamber late one evening he decided to seek an answer in the memories of his beloved dryad and in Merlin's gift to him.

His oak circlet had not wilted after the grove was destroyed. This had eased Arthur's immense grief a little. A visible part of what Merlin had been lived on.

As he sat with the circlet in his hands, he once more admired the brightly green leaves, the golden acorns, and the simple perfection of his oak crown. Slowly he lifted it and placed it on his own head, sensing how well it still fit him. He walked over to the bronze-backed mirror on the far wall, and drew a sharp breath, surprised. He looked... different. 

His reflection was brimming with subtle strength like that of the autumn winds when they move among ancient oaks to shake their branches. The torches along the wall flickered and grew dim. The chamber behind Arthur looked indistinct in the mirror, filled with long shadows. The reflections of the room's many candle-flames reminded him of animal eyes, shimmering in the light of a forest camp-fire.

For a moment the mirror presented him with the image of one of the ancient gods, tall and imposing, crowned with calm leaves, king of the grove. Arthur could sense the power of the land coursing through him.

He shuddered in wonder and awe, and stepped back, breaking the illusion. He had his answer. He knew what Merlin would have wanted him to do.

x X x 

In the early morning light Arthur finally stopped running.

He stood in a small clearing. The grasses were wet with night dew that cooled his tired and burning feet. He was exhausted, each short breath coming in a laboured heave of his chest. The antlers weighed heavily on his head.

Without warning there was a booming sound right in front of him. 

Arthur jumped. 

It was a stag, a huge bulky animal, throwing its antlered head back and bellowing its challenge to its perceived rival once more. Arthur could see the white in the animal's eyes, the strings of saliva trailing from its jaw. 

The stag was in rut and making ready to attack. It scraped a hoof twice on the ground, lowered its head, and without further warning came thundering directly towards him. 

Even if there had been a safe place to run to, Arthur was too tired. He could hardly move. 

He planted his feet firmly on the ground, balled his fists, squared his shoulders and adopted a crouching posture. His whole body tensed. He made ready to meet the stag's onslaught. 

This could be the end. 

But it never came. 

The animal swerved aside at the last moment. It halted, sniffed the air, studied Arthur, and then lowered its head slowly to the ground right in front of him. It looked as if it was making obeisance. After a moment frozen in this position, the animal trotted away.

Arthur's heart was racing. 

He could feel something happening. The ground under his feet seemed like a living presence. The air crackled with power, as if lightning was about to strike. Everything flashed and shimmered before his eyes. The very view of the forest clearing seemed to disintegrate and remake itself. 

Reality shifted right in front of him. 

Massive trees appeared out of thin air, one after the other, and in their middle rose the most majestic oak tree of them all. It was Merlin's oak. 

Arthur could not believe it. His whole body shook. This had to be a vision born of the Druids' magic and his severe fatigue. Surely he was hallucinating. He stumbled forward, step by step, moving closer to the oak, expecting it to dissolve and to disappear again without a trace. But with every step he took, the oak only seemed more massive, more solid, more real. 

He halted right in front of the tree and threw his head back. His neck ached with the weight of the antlers, but the pain seemed distant and unimportant. 

“I have come. Attend me!” 

Arthur himself couldn't have said how these words of command rose from deep within him. They were torn like a mighty roar from his throat. He had no choice in the matter.

A squeal of immense joy answered him from above. “My lord, oh my lord! You have returned at last!” 

There was a blur of hurried movement through the oak leaves, a soft thud on the ground right in front of Arthur, and there he was, very much alive; - kneeling, and looking up at Arthur with shimmering eyes and a huge smile of pure delight.

Merlin. 

Arthur rushed forward without a moment's hesitation and pulled the dryad into his hungry embrace. “Merlin! You're alive!”

Merlin was warm and pliant against Arthur's hard body. He clung to Arthur now, arms twined around his neck and legs around his thighs, and laughed aloud with a burbling sound of joy. Their lips met. The kiss turned deep and ravenous at once. 

Arthur groaned. This was everything he had wanted, everything he'd not even let himself dream of. He was rock hard already, and Merlin was not far behind. They were rubbing together awkwardly, striving for leverage, never breaking the frantic kiss. 

Arthur stumbled forward the couple of steps required for Merlin's back to hit the oak tree's bole. He gripped Merlin's buttocks and hoisted him higher. Merlin's heels drummed an eager tattoo against the small of Arthur's back.

“Yes, yes,” he gasped. “My lord, I am yours!” 

Arthur broadened his stance, pulled Merlin's hips forward, and slotted into place. He slid home in one smooth thrust. 

Merlin's arms gripped his neck tighter. “Ah, ah,” he panted into Arthur's mouth. “I've waited so long!” 

Arthur's mind was reeling. He couldn't think. He acted on primeval instinct, his hips moving of their own volition in the ancient and powerful rhythm that is a celebration of love and the fertility gods all at once.

The pleasure was so intense, he felt as if he was about to pass out. 

Merlin was gasping breathlessly against his cheek, his hands reaching up to grip and hang on firmly to the antlers. He moved in perfect time to meet Arthur's every powerful thrust, and his eyes were pure gold. 

New heat blossomed between them. Merlin whimpered. He had found his release. 

The sensations were overpowering. Arthur shuddered violently. He came, and a blazing surge of energy engulfed him, connecting the two of them with the sky above, the ancient oak tree and the earth where it grew. 

Arthur's vision went white. His knees buckled. 

The space between two of the oak's gnarled roots welcomed and cradled the dryad and the horned god as they tumbled spent to the ground.

x X x 

Arthur admired Merlin's oak circlet. The leaves were large and lush, and there were more acorns than before.

He drew a lazy finger down Merlin's warm chest and smiled a little when the dryad shivered. “When did you get so deferential? 'My lord this', and 'my lord that' – I barely recognized you.”

Merlin stuck his pink tongue out and grimaced at him. “I am who I always have been. I serve the pleasure of the horned god. Today you came to me in his shape.”

“Hmmm. ”

“Didn't the Druids explain this to you?”

“No. They probably believed it needed to just happen on its own, and waited to see if your horned god would accept me as his vessel. I'm glad he did.”

“So am I,” Merlin smiled, wriggling against Arthur. “There was no certainty. Lord Cernunnos has his reasons, but he doesn't explain himself.”

Arthur pushed himself up on his elbows and looked over to the antlers, lying abandoned on the ground. “The power was overwhelming. It was quite frightening. On balance, I'd rather be an ordinary man. Your man.”

Merlin laughed. “There's nothing very ordinary about that!”

“No, you're right. I must be the luckiest man alive, in a class all of my own.”Arthur grinned and pulled Merlin closer. He slid a hand down Merlin's back. “Did I hurt you, before? I was very rough with you, grinding you against the oak like that. I'm sorry. You must be in pain.”

Merlin snorted. “I am one with my oak. It would never hurt me. It was just as soft and yielding as I needed it to be.”

“Of course. How stupid of me to forget.”

Merlin giggled. “I am not surprised. You had other things on your mind.”

“Mmmm, true.”

“A proper king stag in rut, you were.”

“Hush.” Arthur poked a finger at the dip above Merlin's hip. “I didn't hear you objecting.”

Merlin snuggled against him happily. “According to the old laws I am your consort now, and you are mine. Our union makes the land whole.” 

“I like that.” 

“It doesn't mean that you can't also marry a woman of your own kind. I know the laws of your people require you to have human heirs.”

Arthur hurriedly placed a finger across Merlin's lips to silence him. He shook his head.“What will be, will be, but not for a long time yet.”

Merlin yawned. “You have tired me out. I need to sleep a little before we couple again.”

“Trust me, so do I. But before we sleep... please explain to me what happened, Merlin. I need to know. How did the grove survive? I saw the ashes and the empty space where it used to stand.” Arthur shuddered and drew a sharp breath. “I was certain you were dead. I have missed you so.”

“Oh, Arthur. I missed you too, every moment of every day and night!” 

Merlin looked deep into Arthur's eyes. “It was the only way. My first duty will always be to the land and to the grove, and to my oak. I had to protect them from harm. But it was barely spring, and my own powers were too weak. Time was running out. I called on the Druids for help.” 

Merlin sighed. “Their magic could move the grove and carry it in a blast of fire from this world into another, but those spells are so powerful that neither they nor I could reverse them. The only one mighty enough to call the grove back was my lord, Cernunnos.” 

“The horned god. Did you know that I...” 

Arthur didn't know how to finish his question. He had no words to describe what he had gone through after the Druid ritual, what strange and mystical roads his mind and body had travelled. 

“No, I didn't. But I never lost hope. I kept hoping that our summer together had affected your heart and your mind so that one day you would accept the ancient rituals and bind yourself to the land, and to me.” 

Merlin threw his arms around Arthur's neck and kissed him long and lovingly. “My very own horned god!”

Arthur crushed Merlin's slender form to his chest in a tight embrace. “My very own dryad.” 

Smiling in gratitude and delight, they soon fell asleep, happy in each other's arms. 

Above them the great oak tree stood watch, spreading its green branches wide like a canopy and a blessing. A gentle breeze caressed their entwined sleeping forms and made the oak leaves dance. 

Magic and wonder had returned.

Balance had been restored to the Kingdom of Camelot.

Harmony reigned in the realm of the grove. 

 

**\- The End -**  


**Author's Note:**

> Greek dryads were gentle spirits (tree nymphs) under the protection of the hunt goddess Artemis. Given the setting of this fic, I have replaced Artemis with the Celtic god of hunt and fertility, Cernunnos, who usually is depicted as a horned god. In Greek, “drys” signifies “oak”.
> 
> Merlin's song is based on Ariel's first song in the Tempest. This early scene in the fic was inspired by the play's mystical mood when Prince Ferdinand comes ashore on Prospero's magic island and is observed by Ariel.
> 
> Although the fic's setting is a blend of Canon and Fantasy, I drew heavily on the early episodes of Merlin's season 1 in writing this fic. I consider Morris to be a canon-based character since he appears in the two first episodes of Merlin.


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